Edinburgh 2015: Adam Hills, Assembly Hall, review: 'achingly funny'

The words “Adam Hills”, when said by hard-nosed critics, are often followed by the grudging admission that he is “the nicest man in comedy”. He did nothing to dissolve that reputation during the first night of his Edinburgh run at Assembly Hall, but the niceness was shored up by some very good jokes.

Most members of the audience seemed to know him for his TV success over the last three years, presenting Channel 4’s The Last Leg with affable, mischievous aplomb since its debut during the Paralympics. But Hills has been a mainstay of Edinburgh Fringe comedy for a long time now. He was first nominated for an Edinburgh Comedy Award (then the Perrier) in 2001, and has been shortlisted twice since, but hasn’t yet taken the crown.

His new show underlined his status as a live performer of immense skill and experience. It’s difficult to imagine a comedian more relaxed on stage, or one that trusts his audience more than Hills does.

Maybe it’s down to his no-worries Aussie persona that the show was so consistently upbeat and inclusive. At one point, he stole a woman’s walking stick and went through her handbag in front of everyone, but he somehow managed to do it without seeming at all like a bully.

All this was combined with a healthy dose of crowd flattery. “Scottish audiences are always funnier than you are,” he observed in a note-to-self moment. “I think you only have the festival to give yourselves a break from being funny.” He handed out bottles of wine, chocolates and condoms to couples there on a date, and collected money for the local children’s hospital at the end.

That may sound too twee and nice for a decent comedy gig, but there were some sharp jokes peppered throughout and lightning-fast playing off the crowd to prove Hills’ comedy cred is the real deal. There was also a fantastically well-honed impromptu impression of Last Leg co-presenter Josh Widdicombe.

After a bit of overly safe material in the middle about being a husband and father in your forties, the final act was a tour-de-force. Hills moved from talking about how he and his father dealt with the latter’s terminal cancer through the medium of silly dances, to a video segment with fellow Australian comic and thyroid cancer sufferer Craig Coombes, who faces his disease by getting naked on Tuesdays. Death permeated the show, but never at the expense of a laugh, which is basically a summary of Hills’ theory on life. An hour in his company is one of the most achingly funny and uplifting evenings at the Fringe I can remember.